little bird
by the sun in splendor
Summary: bordertown. the dead boy still has a story to tell.
1. all

_set haphazardly to the beat of hellogoodbye's _homewrecker.

* * *

This, Holland thinks, is not how dying is supposed to happen. His eyes slide open and the brown-haired girl is still there.

"What the fuck." Only it comes out more like a croaky _whadafmsuraf_, until he swallows and tries again.

"You should be fucking dead, is what," she snaps, and then he figures out that it's not just some kid leaning over his casket; she's got a black jacket and hard eyes and actually seems sort of scary. "This is the third time I've tried to put you down. I really didn't want you to be this big a part of my life."

He closes his eyes again, because what the hell is happening here. "I." There we go, throat a little less sandpapery now. "Sorry," whispers Holland, because that's the word that kept him alive the longest, and really, what else would you say with this girl cracking her knuckles above you?

"No, you stay awake. Don't pull any of that zombie shit on me, it gets old fast."

And it's not like he's going to argue with this little monster, so he sits up when she pulls on his arm, even though it feels _wrong. _Like his skin is too tight, or his bones too large, or something.

"We need to go, okay?" Holland's pretty sure she's just talking to herself at this point, but whatever. "Get you out of here. I'm going to be in so much trouble, oh my god. Shit. Okay. No."

Once he's on his feet and they've left whatever room he was originally in (he sees a table covered in candle wax, but can't summon the brain power to think about what that means) he stops, digging in his heels. He's got dress shoes on, he notices. He's never worn dress shoes in his life.

And he looks down at his fingernails, which are tinged sort of blue, and his arms, which are actually pastier than usual, and the stitches-

Oh. Right.


	2. your

The first few days are kind of interesting but mostly horrible. Holland feels like he's been taken apart and put back together in the wrong order, and can't stop himself from brushing his fingers over the little gaps in his skin where the stitches have pulled. It's not like it's going to get _infected, _he thinks bitterly.

* * *

The girl's name turns out to be Omen (which he laughs at, at first, but then remembers what she looks like when she's mad), and she frowns the first time she sees him do it. The second time it happens, she fishes a knife out of the front of her shirt and pulls the stitches out herself. Holland stares at her like she's insane, and obviously she is, because what the fuck (this is quickly becoming his favorite phrase). The cuts don't open any more than they already have, and there's no blood, no tingling, no nothing. She rolls her eyes at his face and reminds him that just because he's dead doesn't mean he gets to do nothing all day.

She throws a can of soup at him and tells him to make dinner. For some reason Holland actually does what she says.


	3. monsters

It gets a little less weird after that. For some reason part of Omen has wormed its way into Holland's heart. He never wanted this—to still be alive, to still be attached to someone who doesn't really seem to care about him at all. She's crude and tiny and everything that he already couldn't stand about his own sister, and to have all of Flick's negative traits captured and intensified is simply too much.

But still, it's like Omen has set up shop in his chest, and he hates it. He still finds himself doing everything he says, as though he owes her because he couldn't stay dead the way he was supposed to.

And he doesn't have a choice. There's that stupid red string of fate, that his sister used to talk about (in reference to her latest relationship, or to the fact that she _absolutely had to have those boots, c'mon, Holl, it's fate, the red string- _). Even if he doesn't believe in fate, there's a string that pulls him behind Omen, especially when he doesn't want to be pulled at all.

He listens to her like he's some sort of dog. It's unnerving. It's as though he likes her, or something, really _likes _her without the actual affection or attraction. He doesn't even like _girls, _for god's sake, if he had then this whole thing wouldn't have ever been an issue.

He can deal with this, Holland thinks. He's dealt with worse.


End file.
